


what a brew-tiful morning

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, gabe is still a hockey boy!!, tyson is weirdly enthusiastic abt christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “Just a medium black coffee,” Gabe says to probably the happiest barista he’s ever met. Which isn’t saying much.“Good morning to you too."





	what a brew-tiful morning

**Author's Note:**

> this is the tropiest thing i've ever?? written??? i threw literally every coffee shop au cliche i could think of into this. probably because i wrote it literally five minutes after waking up dkshdkd dont @ me
> 
> while reading this, you might get the idea that i hate mornings. which is absurd. but u are right

Gabe’s really not sure what classifies as a bad morning anymore. If you face something shitty fifteen times over in the span of— _what, a month?_ —you’ll get desensitized to it pretty fucking quickly, no surprise there. 

So when he wakes up to Nate blowing up his phone with texts of _ANSWER ME_ it’s like automatically getting up on the wrong side of the bed. He groans and sets his phone back down on his nightstand, because he definitely isn’t up for hearing about the bomb ass morning skate he missed, or whatever the fuck. He still doesn’t get how Nate can scramble out of bed that early in the morning just to get on the ice. To each his own or whatever. 

Every single morning that he doesn’t have to worry about a game in the evening goes the exact same. He won’t make his bed and he’ll water his plants, maybe eat a bagel with some coffee, which isn’t exactly a bad morning. It’s great, actually. Except for the part where he’s _out_ of coffee. He’s got a half eaten bagel sitting in the fridge, too, which is no less disappointing. 

Gabe’s not the kind of person who can’t live without caffeine, but this has already been shitty enough. He nearly tripped over a rug and it’s fucking _snowing_ outside, so, yeah. He deserves nice things.

Nice things _do_ mean he has to actually dress up in clothes other than a shirt with holes in the shoulder and grey sweats to go out, but that’s really only a mild inconvenience compared to not getting his coffee. 

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror as he steps out and decides leaving the house with messy hair and a hoodie over his sweats is probably the most damage he’ll ever do to his reputation.

 

 

Gabe’s still not used to doors chiming as he steps through them, and this really isn’t any exception. The coffee house he’s decided on is quaint enough to be family owned, with pretty Christmas lights decorating the insides and doodles on chalkboards. It smells like cinnamon and gingerbread, and Gabe is a little disgusted because it’s November, but okay. 

He’s still too tired to walk, and can barely keep his eyes open as he steps up to the counter, because he can still feel the chill on the back of his neck from getting attacked by snowflakes. Being pissed is a plausible reaction. 

Gabe orders a black coffee while trying not to fall asleep at the counter, and the guy behind it looks worryingly amused about it. He’s got these warm brown eyes that Gabe could most certainly wax poetic about if he wasn’t a zombie right now. 

The guy doesn’t ask for a name, and Gabe is half-thankful for it, because human interaction is definitely not his strong suit right now. For example, he’s mumbled three words to the guy and that was just his order. He should probably feel bad because yeah, baristas are human too, but Gabe’s going to die if he has to stand in the same room as bright ass lights and weirdly catchy Christmas music for another five seconds. 

He’s not trying to watch the guy manning the cash register while he waits, but he does catch a peek of him intently scribbling on a cup sleeve, which is kind of a waste of a sleeve, but whatever. He’s not gonna say anything for the sake of getting out of here as quickly as he can.

The coffee house is empty enough that his order comes through surprisingly fast, which, bear in mind, is the only good that’s happened to him today. 

Once Gabe’s in his car, out of the snow and unforgiving winds, he realizes his cup has a sleeve he definitely doesn’t remember putting on it, and he blinks at it for a good two seconds before processing the little smiley face drawn in the corner. It’s followed by a few exclamations points and some more smileys. Gabe thinks it might be a message.

 

 

The second time he comes into the shop, it’s the morning of a game he has to play in the fucking afternoon of all times. Nobody watches hockey at noon. 

Gabe‘s jacket isn’t as warm as he thought it would be in the freezing cold, and once he gets in through the door, he has to shake it free of snowflakes anyways. Part of him hopes he gets traded to fucking Arizona so he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore. 

He tries his best not to be a dick at the counter this time, and the guy behind it—his name tag says _Tyson_ in blocky letters—is just as cheery as he’d been the first time. Gabe really only recognizes him for his eyes, but that’s only because his brain is working a little more than adequately this time around. 

“Just a medium black coffee,” Gabe says to probably the happiest barista he’s ever met. Which isn’t saying much. 

“Good morning to you too,” he responds contently enough, tapping at some buttons on the register. Before Gabe can process that, or even, like, _respond_ , he’s saying, “Anything else?” 

Gabe blinks at Tyson, and okay. Maybe he is kind of being a dick. His bad. “No,” he says, scratching at the side of his neck, and earns a flashy customer service smile in return. 

“Sounds good,” Tyson says. “We’ll have that done for you in a bit.” 

Gabe takes that as a cue to wait off to the side, zoning out until he’s getting his coffee handed to him. There’s no sleeve, but this time it’s Tyson himself passing it over. So that’s something. 

Gabe’s about to turn and leave when he hears Tyson tell him, “It’s usually proper etiquette to say thank you.” It’s not bitter or resentful, just that chirpy tone he’s always got in his voice.

“Uh.” Gabe’s mind is working half a mile an hour. He should probably start getting more sleep instead of replacing it with coffee. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Tyson smiles, it’s softer this time, which Gabe hopes means he’s happy with him instead of like. Planning his demise. “Much better. Have a nice day, man.” 

“Yes. Yeah. You too,” Gabe says quickly, and leaves. 

 

 

He finds himself going back to this same coffee shop over and over. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not that fucking codependent, he’s restocked the missing coffee at his place for late night emergencies, but he really likes the idea of freshly brewed coffee. It’s always the best in the mornings, and if that means he’s getting served by a peppy dude with a pretty face, write it down as just another perk. 

 

 

Gabe gets off a flight from a fucking Canada trip and decides this would be the perfect time to try and go for death by caffeine if anything. He can feel how tired he is down to his bones, and he’s not a morning person in the slightest, so he isn’t sure why he doesn’t just go home and bury himself in blankets.

Specifically, he isn’t sure why he settles for heading to that same coffee shop as always. He should probably try coming in during the afternoon when he doesn’t feel like snapping at anything that looks at him, but he’s not sure if Tyson works then. Seeing how he’s always here around the time Gabe comes through. 

“Yikes,” Tyson says when he sees him, before anything else. Gabe thinks he might be glaring. Honest mistake. “Bad day?”

“Bad everything,” Gabe grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“What _happened_ ,” Tyson asks, and Gabe considers just broadly gesturing at everything. 

“Early flight,” he says instead, and he can hear how tired he sounds. He clarifies that with, “Work trip.” 

It’s really gotten to the point where he isn’t sure whether or not Tyson knows who he is, which would be fucking wild considering he lives in _Colorado_ , but hey. A breath of fresh air is always nice. And he’s not about to start talking about his career either, because he’s definitely not that pretentious. 

“Sounds rough,” Tyson says understandingly, and shifts his attention. “Are you getting something other than black coffee today?” 

“No,” Gabe mumbles. He’s kind of flattered Tyson remembers, even if his order isn’t the most forgettable thing in the world. Considering he can coherently pronounce it while on the verge of passing out, yeah.

“Do you ever get anything else?” Tyson asks while Gabe taps his credit card on the machine. 

“No.”

Tyson looks unimpressed. “Doesn’t it get boring? Sounds boring.”

“No,” Gabe answers tiredly, and Tyson rolls his eyes. He still makes it look fond, because the guy’s a ball of sunshine apparently. 

“Are you ever anything but a brick wall to talk to?”

Gabe considers that for a moment. “No.” He can feel the little smile that tugs on his lips and Tyson’s face fucking lights up. 

 

 

Gabe faces a moment of weakness where he considers staying in bed and not feeding his coffee obsession for just one morning, but he’s come to terms with the fact that Tyson really does make his mornings better. He’s still not sure if he has the right to call any of his mornings bad, but Tyson brightens them all up and really, that’s much better than coffee. 

He drives through something other than snow for once. Even if the sun in his eyes isn’t the best feeling in the world, it wakes him up a little. 

The door chimes, the shop smells like Santa’s goddamn workshop, and Tyson catches his gaze from the counter with a happy smile. 

Gabe orders his coffee and they make meaningless small talk about just how not dead Gabe is for once. Just as he’s about to move off to the side to wait for his coffee, Tyson asks him, “Hey, can I get your name?” And he lifts the cup to indicate what it's for.

Gabe stares at him for a moment, his head trying to work out why the fuck he needs his name now. Tyson shrugs, a hopeful little twinkle in his eyes. He’s stupidly endearing, Gabe’s not sure if he’d be able to deny him the world if he asked for it. 

“Yeah,” he answers slowly. “Gabe.” 

Tyson looks like he’s accomplished some great feat as he scribbles it on the cup. “Great, thanks,” he says. “I’m Tyson.”

Gabe decides not to point out how he’s known that for literally weeks now, and nods his head appreciatively anyways.

Once Gabe gets his coffee, it doesn’t take him very long to realize there’s a little smiley face doodled next to his name followed by some stars. 

It makes him smile, and when he looks back over at Tyson, he’s wiping at the counter, biting back the quirk in his lips.

 

 

“We added something to the menu yesterday,” Tyson says, his voice happy. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and Gabe is literally fearing for his life. He was away on another “work trip” yesterday, which he hasn’t ever been grateful for until now.

“Yeah? Sounds great. I’m just gonna have—“

“You haven’t even heard my pitch yet,” Tyson says, and he looks extremely fake hurt. Gabe still feels a little bad. “Get this, it’s a latté—“

“Sounds really underwhelming.”

“—and it’s candy cane flavoured.” He gives him a big smile, like that’s going to sell it to him. It kind of is, but Gabe can still pretend. “I’ll give it to you on the house, my treat. Everyone likes changing things up a little.”

“I don’t,” Gabe says, and Tyson scoffs. 

“Are you _sure_?” He gives him this pleading look, and fuck off, he’s blessed with being insanely cute. It’s not Gabe’s fault he cracks.

“Fine.” 

Tyson doesn’t make him pay, but Gabe still tips double what the latte costs. His cheeks are pink when he thanks him, and Gabe’s heart skips ten beats at the very least.

It probably shouldn’t be surprising that Tyson hands him a candy cane patterned cup with that special little smile he always wears when Gabe’s around, because he’s trying to kill Gabe probably. And it also shouldn’t be surprising that the latte tastes like a mess of sugar, Christmas, and everything in between. 

“What the hell,” Gabe deadpans, and Tyson looks like he’s trying his hardest to hold in a bout of laughter. 

“Good isn’t it?” He asks, and it’s so goddamn patronizing. “It’s a fan favourite, and like. All I drink ever.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Gabe chokes out. “Love it. My trainer is going to eat me alive.” 

“Your trainer won’t know.”

“Yeah, but my body will,” Gabe insists, and Tyson cracks up. 

 

 

The next time Gabe comes in, he orders a cookie with his coffee just because Tyson coaxes him into it. Telling him it’s probably the best thing he’s tasted since the latte. And Gabe is well aware that it’s definitely not good for him in any way shape or form, but he really likes Tyson. So. 

“Wanna know something funny,” Tyson says, leaning against the counter while Gabe sips his coffee. The place is always peacefully empty at this time of the morning, aside from some of the students typing away on their laptops and the occasional person that comes through the door, so they get time for small talk. 

“Yeah?” Gabe asks.

“While they were talking about you on TSN last night,” he says conversationally, and brushes over it like it doesn’t even _matter_ , “My niece pointed at the TV and asked me how hockey players balance on _knife shoes_. It took me ten minutes to figure out what she even meant.”

“What?”

Tyson chuckles. “I know, it’s stupid, I tried to tell her—“

“No, wait, go back to the first thing,” Gabe says. “You—you know who I am?” 

“I mean.” Tyson makes an expansive gesture with his hand, which really doesn’t mean very much to Gabe. “I didn’t, like, always know. But I watched the Canucks play the Avs after the first few times you came in and I just went _oh, that’s Gabriel Landeskog._ I even double checked, and hey, you told me your name is Gabe, so.”

“Oh,” Gabe says, because what. Okay, wow. “Is that—okay?” 

“It has been for the past month, so yeah, man. You’re just Gabe.” Tyson smiles at him, soft and sweet, and Gabe’s so gone on him. 

“If that’s the case,” Gabe says, and he fidgets with his little brown cookie bag enough that he can hear it crinkle under his fingertips. “How does grabbing a bite sound? I’m not playing tonight.”

Tyson’s still wearing his smile, and it’s contagious enough that Gabe swears it’s on his face too, despite the rapid thumping of his heart. “Yeah,” he says, with a little nod. “I’d like that.” 

Gabe leans in to press his lips to the corner of Tyson’s mouth lightning quick, and _holy shit_ , he can’t believe it. “Then, it’s a date.”


End file.
